


i think of my dad often

by KawaiiNerdChan



Series: Ripley Adams - the best of times [1]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Character Death, Childhood Memories, Family, Family Angst, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Reminiscing, Uncle-Niece Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:06:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KawaiiNerdChan/pseuds/KawaiiNerdChan
Summary: ripley thinks of her dad after her conversation and jog with jacobshe thinks of her past and her future and how proud she is of who she's become





	i think of my dad often

**Author's Note:**

> just a bit if insight to ripper  
> i enjoyed writing this prompt for ripper which was - to write about how an adult figure helped to shape the person our deputy is

I think of my dad often. 

I miss him all the time and part of me still grieves everyday for him. Perhaps seeing Jacob look at the photo in my living room triggered me to think of him a lot more lately. Whenever I do something now - no matter how small the act - my dad's face pops into my head straight away, I could be cooking dinner or simply washing the dishes and green eyes flash in my mind. 

I was ten when my dad passed away. Not a moment goes by when I think of how he had gone to work and never come home. My dad worked as a mechanic, he had dropped a friend off in his beat up truck, it was green and took some time to start up but my dad had always insisted that 'she had some life left in her yet', we called that truck 'Ole Besty' and when he died my mom sold it as quick as she could. After he died we never sat in that truck again, I worry that I'll forget the awful stuttering noise it made when it started or how the seats always smelled like smoke, my dad always had a pack of cigarettes near by. He often got mom's dishrag thrown at him when she had washed his jeans only to find a smushed pack of cigarettes inside, he always laughed and promised to never do it again, he didn't stop doing it and when he died he had one in his shirt pocket - he would have got that dishrag chucked at him if mom had gotten the chance to wash it. My dad had been stopped at a red light when the car struck him head on, the bastard had been drinking - found the alcohol in his system when they took him in after he bolted, after he left my dad in that truck and left him to die. The guy had sobbed in court begging for our forgiveness, his wife had been furious at us after he got the fifteen years in prison - 'our kids will grow up without a dad', my mom had slapped her hard saying the exact same thing in regards to me. Fifteen years was all he got, to me he should have been locked away forever, I still think that even though I'm much older. 

I think that's why I became a deputy in the first place. Something about justice, I wanted to beat the system and put the bad guys away, just like how me and dad used to when he played superheroes or when we played cowboys and I was the sheriff. My dad had been strong on morals, he believed in a better world and he believed in love and family, he was one of the kindest men I had known. My dad used to make my mom breakfast in bed when she was tired; he used to bring flowers whenever the ones he had brought prior had wilted and he always sang whenever mom played the piano. With him gone there were no more flowers and no more music. I like to think that's where I got my excited nature from, where I could sing and dance to any song and how I always had to have flowers in the vase in the kitchen. At the moment I had carnations, they were a soft pink and went nicely with the cream of my vase. The ones before had been zinnias and the ones before that had been violets. There was colour in all my rooms, my dad had often said how he'd love a rainbow house, so in every room I had I made sure to have colourful cushions, blankets and all the bits and bobs stacked on the shelves. I had a large assortment of candles and little lights, my rooms were always lit up in a warm glow, made me think of all the pillow forts me and my dad had made whenever I was sad. We would stack up the cushions and grab every blanket we could, mom would make popcorn and we'd have warm drinks - we always read under there or some days we just played the radio. Nowadays I still made the pillow forts, mainly with Sharky - we use his portable DVD player to watch old horror movies and when we play my dad's song on his phone he always sings it to me in a bad accent, I always cry at that no matter how many times he's done it. 

I have to thank my dad for my sense of humour, with my dad in the house we were surrounded by laughter and friends like how I am now, when he passed away I tried everything I had to get my mother to smile again. I told jokes, I pulled weird faces and I helped anyone I could, it's what my dad always did and it's what he would have wanted me to do now. Because of my dad I wear my badge with pride, and I love my work and I love helping others, and in all fairness - some days I feel like I'm losing hope but the picture of my dad always sparks something inside. He makes me want to do better. My mom lost hope when he died, I tried to keep that faith there but it wasn't enough, my dad had been a pillar of the family - a pillar of the community. I think that's why my mom started to hate me as I got older, because everyday I became more and more like him, every time she looked at me she saw him so she despised me for it. But just because my own mother couldn't stand to look at me didn't mean I was going to stop acting just like him, if anything I tried in all my power to become more and more like him. My mom thought she could replace the memory of him. She binned all his photos and things; she remarried to an absolute asshole who was nothing like the man my dad had been and she tried to change me in any way she could. The picture in my living room is all I have left. That fishing trip is one of the happiest moments of my life, my dad was always proud of me - but that day he was glowing. I look forward to the future when I can take my kids fishing and feel exactly how my dad felt that day, and I hope the moment is pictured in a frame forever. Not that I need the frame, I will always have his smile forever in my mind and all the feelings that I felt that day will be with me forever. 

Most of my happiest memories involved my father. From my eight birthday when he brought the family dog home a beautiful golden retriever that we had called 'Honey', the name had stuck after he often cradled the pup with those soft crooning words. The other would be at Christmas when he brought my mom the prettiest necklace with blue gems and hearts all over it, her new husband had sold that as soon as he found out its story. Another would be when he built my treehouse, we had both been reading in it when mom had climbed up and had a picnic with her, we had ham sandwiches and orange juice, I had spilt mine all over my shirt and my dad had laughed and said 'Orange you gonna clean that' my mom threw a mini sausage at him for that. 

There were so many. But one of the most important memories to me would have been when my mom and dad talked about their wedding day, dad would talk for hours about how he proposed to her when she was pregnant with me and how she had sobbed with joy, how her dad had punched him when he found out but soon hugged him hard when he saw how happy my mom was. My grandad had so much respect for my dad especially when he let mom keep her last name , my mom had been worried about telling him that she wished to keep her name- but my dad had been fine with it and even wished to change his so they would match, my mom had said no to that and the two made a deal that I would have my mother's surname and my father's choice of middle name if my dad kept his last name.

When I turned fourteen I moved in with my uncle, me and my mom couldn't stand each other anymore and I couldn't stand her husband either. My uncle raised me after that - the more time I spent with him - the more I wanted to change my last name back to my fathers. My uncle was my dad's older brother, he was a good man too and he raised me right, raised me just as my dad would have liked me to be. My mom never took my uncle to court to get me back and she never answered any more of my calls and she never visited my uncle's once. My uncle was always there for me after that. He took me to prom, helped me with my exams and he was the one that gave me the chance to get my position as a deputy. 

I smile when I think of my dad, I smile brighter when I think of my uncle. The coffee is hot when I drink it and I'm under two of the blankets that are on my couch, the Book of Joseph is on my lap and my phone plays 'Fly me to the moon'. The music is interrupted when my phone rings and my uncle's name pops onto the screen, with a soft huff I pick it up and bring it to my ear.

"Hi Earl,"

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!  
> i'll be doing prompts for ripper - if you would like me to write one please message me on my tumblr - whether it's based on what has already happened in 'he calls me wrath' or something completely different!  
> <3


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